


Outside, In Your Shadows

by transubstantiate



Series: Bucky!Cap [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:43:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transubstantiate/pseuds/transubstantiate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>buckycap au natasha & steve: bye bye bikinis</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside, In Your Shadows

She knows something’s gone very wrong when they turn the corner and Farah says, _that’s odd._  
 _What’s odd?_  Natasha asks, putting her hand on the engineer’s back and steering her across the street.  
 _I lost service right as we crossed in front of that building,_ Farah says, raising a hand.  
 _Don’t point,_  Natasha says.  
 _I can’t have lost service,_ Farah mutters. _There are transmitters all over the city._  
Natasha starts walking them back the way they came, assessing the building out of the corner of her eye. As they pass it Farah’s phone bings.  
 _What was that?_  Natasha asks.  
 _I have…service again…._ Farah says slowly. _But it’s a different carrier? T_ _hat shouldn’t be possible. Hang on, let me start a diagnostic._  
 _Nope,_ Natasha snags the phone out of Farah’s hand and surreptitiously deposits it on a windowsill.  
 _Do you think they were tracking us via the phone?_  Farah stops walking. _T_ _hat’s not possible either._  
 _Keep moving,_ Natasha snaps. _We have to get to the car._  
——  
They leave the SHIELD car in a lot outside Batumi for recovery by agents from the local field office and trek the last three miles into the city on foot.  
 _Wouldn’t a plane have been faster?_ pants Farah.  
 _Yes,_ Natasha says shortly.  
Yes, she thinks, a plane would have been faster. A plane would be nice. What a shame SHIELD had no operating planes anywhere in the Middle East. Something to take up with Fury when she got back.  
——  
There’s a long line to buy tickets for the ferry across the black sea and Farah gets more and more antsy the longer they have to wait.  
 _Why didn’t we just drive around?_ she asks in rapid, panicked Yiddish.  
 _Because,_ Natasha says warningly in Farsi, _that would have added at least five hours to our journey._  
Once they’re on the ferry, Natasha herds Farah to a spot near the rail.  
 _I get seasick,_ the engineer mutters.  
 _Better sick than dead,_ Natasha says in a tight voice. _This is our best exit strategy._  
Farah laughs raggedly and wraps her fingers around the railing. Natasha touches her shoulder gently and scans the crowd, picking out two women and three men who are watching them. She waves jauntily at none of them and they all turn away, suddenly busy with other things.  
——  
 _Agent,_ Farah says. _That man is following us._  
 _I know,_ Natasha mutters and pulls Farah into the nearest alleyway before pushing the engineer behind her and pulling her gun on the man, who has pursued them into the narrow space. She spits the first half of the code phrase at him, and when he tosses back the second half along with an easy grin, she has to suppress an answering smile of relief from spreading across her face.  
 _Agent Triplett,_ he says, flipping out his badge. _Looking for the keys to your ride?_  
——  
Agent Triplett ( _call me Tripp,_ he says) takes them to a safe house.  
 _Are you sure we have time to stop?_ Farah asks, eying Tripp suspiciously.  
 _Eat something,_ Natasha says. _I have to make a report. We’ll be on the move again within the hour._  
Farah glares at Tripp once more before going to the kitchen.  
 _Who’s your s.o., Agent Triplett?_ Natasha asks.  
 _John Garrett,_ he replies.  
She grimaces and he chuckles at her face.  
 _He’s not as bad as all that,_ Tripp says, and when her eyebrows travel even further up her forehead, he laughs out loud.  
 _I believe someone may have been tracking the mark’s phone before we left,_ she says. _I tagged it and left it there, but we were followed all the way to the black sea._ She smiles wanly. _I scared some of them off, but not all._  
 _I can shadow you to the edge of the city,_ Tripp offers.  
 _Is the car bulletproof?_  
 _Yes ma’am._  
——  
Farah is asleep in the backseat and Odessa is almost in sight when there’s the sound of a gunshot, and then another, and the car is skidding out, flipping down the side of a cliff and Farah is screaming and Natasha feels the bones in her arm snap.  
Natasha loses consciousness as the car hits the bottom of the ravine and wakes to find Farah, pale-faced, tying an improvised splint around her broken arm.  
 _Find your gun,_ Natasha orders.  
——  
It’s a long, silent climb back up to the road. Natasha pulls herself up onto her elbows and scans the area.  
Only black tire tracks and the scent of burnt rubber.  
Carefully, she climbs the rest of the way up, and as she moves forward to give Farah room to climb up, the engineer calls out, _A_ _gent Romanoff!_ and Natasha sees a glint of silver in the scrub across the road, and she lifts her gun and  
——  
The bullet rips through her stomach and knocks her to the ground.  
——  
Somewhere behind Natasha, Farah chokes on her own blood.  
——  
The man who fills her vision is long and lean with close cropped blond hair and a metal arm. He kneels next to her, presses those metal fingers to the pulse point in her neck. His eyes are blue, she sees, blue and there’s something like a wild, hunted terror lingering in their wintry depths.  
She wonders dimly when she became such a poet.  
He takes her radio and activates the emergency distress beacon before moving on to check Farah.  
There are still faint sounds coming from the engineer, and when the man looms over her, he makes a noise of disgust.  
There’s the harsh report of a rifle fired at close range.  
——  
And then silence.


End file.
